Letter Out Of Time
by Caz Malfoy
Summary: Crossover with NY. Sometimes all you need is a push in the right direction... SLASH!


_Disclaimer: I don't own CSI:Miami or NY._

Letter Out Of Time

Tim Speedle threw his motorcycle helmet on to the sofa wearily. The case was nowhere near solved and there was still a whole truckload of evidence to process. But Horatio had seen how worn-out his team was and had sent them home for at least eight hours of sleep.

What Horatio didn't seem to understand was that Tim would have preferred to stay at work until the case was solved; rather than break off in the middle of it and lose his concentration.

But there was no arguing with the boss. So Tim had dutifully stored his work in the evidence lock-up, grabbed his helmet and left.

He had been tempted to drive down to the everglades or the beach for a few hours, but his stomach had protested against waiting for food, so he had headed straight home.

Sticking last night's pizza in the microwave, Tim surveyed his condo. Eric liked to rile him and bring up how messy the place was. But Tim couldn't see what Eric's point was; the place looked fine to him.

Sure, there were books and magazines scattered around on the floor and various surfaces; and you had to jump over his sneakers, while remembering to dodge the floor board that went up one on side if you put too much weight on it.

Admittedly, the place needed a little refurbishment, but it was the first place Tim had been able to call home in a long time so he was going to complain.

Tim grabbed a beer from the fridge and headed into the sitting room. Sitting down on the couch, he reached for the remote and flicked on the television.

The CSI paused, frowning when he noticed something out of the corner of his eye.

Tim had left home a long time ago, leaving all his things behind him. But a few years ago his mom and dad had moved house; they had packed up their eldest son's room and sent his things to Miami.

He had never bothered to unpack them. The only things in them were mementoes of a time and a place he wished he didn't have memories of. But, for some reason he couldn't bring himself to throw them away.

So they just sat there alone, in the corner, serving no other purpose than being something for him to pile more books on top of.

The thing that had caught Tim's attention however, was a brilliant white envelope that was resting on top of one of the boxes.

Putting the bottle down, the brunette pulled himself to his feet and crossed the room.

The postmark on the envelope read 'February 21 1992'. The address was written in his best friend's handwriting. The same best friend that had died three days after the letter was dated.

He hesitated for a second before tearing the letter open and pulling out the letter inside.

Danny Messer was exhausted. The twenty-hour shift he had just completed had definitely taken its toll on the blue eyed CSI. His boss Mac must have noticed how worn-out he was, because he had sent Danny home to get some well-deserved rest.

At he was more than happy to follow Mac's orders; but apparently the brilliant individual that decided to call him had other plans. And to make matters even worse, the phone was in the sitting room.

Cursing both himself and the idiot on the other end of the phone, Danny stumbled through the apartment and snatched the phone off the hook.

"What?" he demanded.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Erm… Danny?" a hesitant voice asked.

"Who is this?"

"I don't know if you'll remember me but…" the guy took a deep breath. "It's Speed."

The instant Danny heard the old nickname memories came flooding back and threatened to overwhelm his tired brain. "Speed?" he whispered, sitting down heavily on the couch.

"How… How are you?" Tim asked quietly.

"Okay," Danny replied, fiddling with the hem on his boxer shorts. It had been almost ten years since he had seen or spoken to Tim and he didn't really know what to say. "Still in New York," he added, before mentally hitting himself; of course Tim knew where he was, he had called him.

"Where are you?" Danny questioned. "Last I heard you were playing bass in a bank full of hippies with pink hair."

Tim laughed on the other end of the phone line. "Who told you that?"

"Bobby B," Danny chuckled. "It's not true then?"

"Afraid not. Sorry."

"Pity. You'd look good in tye-dye."

Three hours later Tim cancelled the call and replaced the receiver on the hook. His phone bill was going to be through the roof at the end of the month but the conversation he had just had with Danny would be worth it.

They had gone to school together and been firm friends but after Tim had left New York, they had lost touch. If he hadn't found the letter he wouldn't even have called Danny up.

Tim looked at the piece of white paper in front of him. He still didn't know where it had come from. All the boxes were still taped up and had been like that since they had arrived. He knew it hadn't come in that morning's post because the only thing that came that morning had been a letter from an insurance company offering him life insurance.

Not to mention the post mark was ten years out of date; Tim knew that the postal system was not the best thing invented but a letter taking a decade was a little extreme.

Most of the letter was pointless stuff; things that made him smile at the memories but didn't have any real meaning to them.

It was the last line that had caught and kept his attention.

_Speed, do us all a favour. Pin Danny down and fuck him into next week. Everyone knows you want to._

The End


End file.
